


Lover of the Russian Queen

by ScarletteStar1



Series: I WILL FIND YOU- AU and Canon Divergent Stories about OTPs Reaching Across Time and Space To Be Where They Belong [8]
Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: AU, Boney M, F/F, Freaky Tits, Russian Mythology, Song fic, freaky tits gets even freakier???, rasputin - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2019-07-11 20:21:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15979778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarletteStar1/pseuds/ScarletteStar1
Summary: On a winter night, a mad nun brings wafts of summer to the Russian palace on the whim of a desperate queen.





	Lover of the Russian Queen

The frail queen watched her even frailer son as he slept. He’d barely moved for hours. He’d not been able to eat more than a sip or two of gruel for days. She knew if he continued thus, he would not be long for this world.

The doctors could not, or would not, give her any more answers, not even as they plucked off the leeches and plopped their engorged bodies back into jars of water. The queen watched the fat, black creatures swim off their hearty meals of her son’s blood, and she chewed her own lips until she tasted the metal of her own life force. She knelt before the prince. She covered a weeping, red gash on her son’s flesh with her pale hand. His skin burned beneath the ice of her fingers. Every fireplace in the palace blazed and yet the queen could not get warm. This winter was especially cruel. 

“Call her,” she demanded without looking up.

“But your Majesty,” her attendant whispered. “What will the king say?”

She would not dignify that with an answer. She would not look up. She would only say again, “Call her.”

The Mad Nun came in her filthy robe, but she did not smell of dirt or decay. She was scented with the earth, with the hay of lofts in which she had slept and rolled, with the heather and lavender of summer meadows she had magically conjured even in the middle of winter. Her dark hair flowed around her shoulders and covered her face. Beneath all the earthen darkness of her, her eyes glowed with celestial brightness.

She made her queen shiver with the draft of all the seasons she dragged with her into the palace.

Before she attended the child, she ate a sumptuous meal in the queen’s chambers. She drank glass after glass of the king’s wine, and when she had her fill of that, she enjoyed his vodka. The queen herself served the nun course after course and cup after cup, as she pled her case. “You must help,” the queen whimpered at last. “Please, you must help me.”

“Must I?” The nun hissed as she bit into a lamb shank and juices of the meat ran down her chin. “Must I help you, Vera?” She refused to call her majesty by a title. The Wild Mystic would not bend to convention.

“Your Holiness,” the little queen began and twisted her hands together. “You’ve proved yourself time and again. I beg of you. He’s my only son. He is so small and so young and I cannot live without him. I would give all my daughter’s for him. I would give anything at all.” Tears flowed freely. In the presence of Her Holiness the queen was vulnerable at last.

“Shall we read from the Scriptures?” The nun sat back in her seat and brushed her hair off her face. Her lips spread into a languid smile.

“I’d rather not,” the queen said.

“Ahh,” the nun sighed and raised an eyebrow. She poured herself another vodka and drank it with a flick of her wrist. “Then shall we dance? I know how you love to dance.”

“No!” The queen exclaimed, impatiently. “No! You must go to him now!”

Her Holiness spread her legs. Strong thighs peeked out from her robes. She seemed in no rush whatsoever to go anywhere. She clucked her tongue. “Temper, temper, Vera,” she sighed. She raised a hand and waved her fingers once before the queen who caught all of her breath and energy in her throat and held it there. The nun lowered her hand and the queen exhaled at last, and with her exhalation let go of the frenetic energy she had held. She stood still and supple before the robed priestess. “That’s better, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” the queen murmured.

“Now Vera, all will be well with the boy. I am a firm believer that children should be hale and hearty and your young son is no exception. I shall make him so. But as with all things, there is a price.”

“Anything,” the queen gasped.

“Anything?”

“Yes. Anything.”

“Then come.” She beckoned the queen to her with a pat on her open lap. The queen stepped forward and took her seat on the nun’s thigh. “Oh, little Vera,” she mumbled and nuzzled her neck and breast lustily. Her breath smelled of spiced meat and wine. The queen put her hands on her face and brushed the matted hair off of her forehead. Beneath the dark mane, the nun’s skin was pale, but her lips were deep and full and the queen needed no more invitation to bend and worship them with her own wet and wanting mouth. The priestess grasped the bodice of the queen’s gown with both of her hands and tore it down to her waist. “Hah,” she said triumphantly as she reveled in the queen’s naked flesh. In a brutish motion, the nun swept all of the dishes, glasses, and cutlery off of the table with her arm, and thrust the queen onto it.

The queen bit her lips to keep from smiling as her skirts were pushed up and her stockings torn. “They will try to kill you for this,” she whispered into her Holy Woman’s ear, knowing the effect it would have. They would both get what they wanted that night.

“Let them,” the Mad Nun laughed. “Let them try.”

**Author's Note:**

> So, Joan Ferguson is originally from Russia, right? It sort of works?? I love and live for comments so please say hi!! Thank you so much for taking the time to read the weird ramblings of my insane mind...


End file.
